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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855145">rainwater lies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellmare/pseuds/bellmare'>bellmare</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Community: badbadbathhouse, Dreams, Mythology - Freeform, Other, Shadows - Freeform, Social Links, Spoilers, Subtext, gratuitous headcanons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:41:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,044</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellmare/pseuds/bellmare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gods without devotees must be lonely indeed. Who can they turn to, to fulfill their own wishes?</p><p>(Extremely spoiler heavy for the True Ending. Tags to be added upon completion).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. spring (of birth).</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a story that has been almost ten years in the (works, making, forgetting), sitting lonely and neglected at the bottom of my notes folders. I never thought I'd return to this, or to writing for fandom, though I'd long fed the little plot bunnies for this fic when they occasionally wandered idly across my mind. But yet, now, here I am -- P4G getting rereleased on Steam reignited all sorts of feelings in me, particularly the ones behind this story.</p><p>Originally written for a badbadbathhouse prompt, heavily edited (refined?) into its current incarnation; apologies for holding off on the prompt and the very main (and most significant) premise of this story, as I feel like stating it outright may colour the initial reading of this fic. However, the most salient point is that Souji is a girl For Important Reasons, which I hope will be apparent enough.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She wakes up briefly on the train, jostled by the motion of the wheels running over a bend in the tracks. The compartment is empty except for her.</p><p>All the windows are wide open, chilly air gusting in as the train roars on. Fog fills the space, a white haze so thick that she can barely see three feet in front of her. The other carriages of the train extend out on either side of hers; for a moment, she wonders if she can see the shapes of other passengers moving in the fog</p><p></p><div>
  <p>They pass through a tunnel, long and dark and stretching on for minutes, carved through the bowels of a mountain. Through the open windows, she can smell the rich, heavy scent of turned earth. She remains seated where she is, elbow propped on the window sill, chin tucked into her hand. The rocking of the train has a soporific effect; she dozes to a voice over the speakers announcing the limited express schedule, its non-stop journey towards the terminus of the route -- Yasoinaba Station. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The countryside is lovely. The air is cool even by the time she arrives late in the afternoon, pale sunlight filtering in weakly through the gathered clouds.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A man picks her up at the station. She supposes he has to be her uncle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She laughs dutifully along with his jokes about not being able to recognise each other. "Already in your uniform, I see," her uncle says after the awkward beat stretches for far too long. "It's good to be eager. Uh, hm. Prepared?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>For a moment, she looks down at herself, at the proper sheer white tights and the knee-length skirt and the sailor collar, bright yellow scarf neatly knotted. "I suppose so," she says and runs her fingers over the bright white stitching, over the high V-shaped hem of the knitted turtleneck she's wearing underneath. "Yes," she says. She follows her uncle to his car. It smells like it will rain for hours, for the rest of the day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>That night she dreams she'd stopped at a different station instead of Yasoinaba.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She can sense the presence of someone with her on the train. They're sitting opposite her, the fog hiding the faint shadow of a dark shape. They face each other in silence, and when the train finally stops, the other passenger leaves first. She follows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The building around her is a worn, burnt-out shell. The roof has been stripped off the station, leaving supporting struts and beams reaching towards the sky like snaggled teeth and broken ribs; the platform is paved underfoot with thin red tiles laid in a herringbone pattern. She gets off the train, and begins to walk down the platform.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>With each step, she can hear the mournful chime of distant bells. Once or twice, her foot kicks against stained white objects that roll away from her with a hollow rattle; she can feel the eyes of many things on her -- but when she looks around there's nothing there. Somewhere along the way, she thinks she's been walking for an awfully long time just trying to alight off the platform -- and when she looks around her, the red path stretches straight into the fog, for as far as she can see. Every other landmark -- train, station, turnstiles, ticket kiosks, vending machines -- have vanished and she is alone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The air smells of smoke. When she looks in front of her, the fog is pink and orange, lit from within by the glow of flame. She looks behind her and there is only a dark tunnel, carved through the bowels of a mountain. She turns back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>In the tunnel, there's a car idling, its body long and low to the ground. The fire is catching up to her now; she can feel its heat on her back. She gets into the car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>No sooner has she shut the door behind her when its engine purrs to life. She twists in her seat to watch the fire dwindling at the mouth of the dark tunnel. The car is almost silent as it drives through the night-dark expanse of the endless, misty road. Its headlights barely cut through the fog.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"How unusual," the old man opposite her says. "It is the Velvet Room's policy to never meddle directly with the affairs of gods and men, but what's to say when they choose to make their fates intersect and intertwine themselves?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The old man seems unperturbed when she only stares at him in response, and hands her a contract to sign. When she stares down at the lines and boxes, she realises, with a thrum of panic, that she doesn't know how to write her name.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She ends up writing something down anyway. <em>Suzu</em>, printed in the faltering kana of a child. It sounds wrong, somehow, but she likes the sound of it, at least. Maybe she's got bells on the mind after her lonely journey through the deserted train platform.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The ink shines wetly on the paper before her. For a brief and heart-stopping moment in which she stares at her own handwriting, Suzu thinks she's forgotten how to read her own name, too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu runs a bath that night and sits in the tub for a long time, cloaked in clouds of steam. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her body ripples strangely under the water; Suzu skims her palm over the inside of her arm, fingertip lingering over the delicate tracery of veins under her skin. Supple and unblemished, pristine with the flush of youth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She runs her hand over the contours and features of the body marked as 'hers', marvels at its construction -- the dips and curves of her clavicle and wrists and knuckles and hipbones, the motion of the clustered groups of muscles lined down her legs. Suzu stops with her hands on her thighs, staring at them through the water. Something is wrong there. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The skin is smooth and perfect and unbroken. Suzu curls her fingers and digs her nails in, carves little red crescents in until it hurts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>There's a knock on the door. "Oh-- sorry, I was just checking to see if anyone was still inside," her uncle says through the wood as Suzu stands, sending water slopping over the lip of the tub and splashing to the floor. In the mirror set on the wall, Suzu's reflection is pale as a ghost.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A man stops by Suzu's uncle's house in the morning, harried and tousle-haired and half-carrying, half-balancing a set of files under his arm. Suzu doesn't miss the way his eyes linger on her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Didn't know Dojima-san had a niece," he says and laughs. "Especially not one as-- you know what, never mind." He wedges his umbrella on the crook of his arm, pressing it in place with his unwieldy stack of files, and sticks out his now-free hand. "I'm Tohru Adachi, your uncle's slave."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu stares down at his hand, then takes it. "Suzu ... Seta," she says. "I just arrived yesterday."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You don't say." Adachi's still holding on to her. Suzu wonders if it would be rude to pull her hand back. "Guess we out-of-towners will have to stick together, huh?" He laughs, as though what he's said is of great hilarity, and Suzu smiles along with him. Abruptly, he stops -- and releases her hand to touch his fingertips to his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, shit, ow," he says, tottering a little. The umbrella slips a little bit on his elbow. "Maybe I overdid it on the beers last night. Er--" He fumbles over the words, eyes snapping up to Suzu's. "Uh, don't tell your uncle about that. I'm not hungover!" he adds a bit defensively, even though Suzu hasn't said anything. "Had a bad night's sleep and there's been lots of overtime work ... lots of calls this morning, too, you know how it is ..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Is he trying to convince her, or convince himself? Suzu just says "okay", and makes to shut the door. "You take care, now."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The neighbourhood housewives and passing high-schoolers preoccupy themselves with gawking at the yellow hazard-taped tableau and hovering around the local news crew. Though what passes for the town's forensic team has tidied up the evidence, Suzu shivers when she passes by; there's something different about a space in which someone has died.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The people crowd around the scene, a pack of rubbernecking onlookers with their curious clamour of voices. Suzu feels nauseous from it and heads home by herself. Nobody's there -- her cousin hasn't been let out of school yet, leaving Suzu to stew with her own thoughts, to sign for a few packages from a sad-eyed and sad-faced man who ducks his head and doesn't meet her eyes, to watch the sky as stormclouds roll in from the north.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The news is filled with nothing but reports and speculation on the murder. It seems sad and wrong and disrespectful, to gawk at the scene of someone's death. Suzu settles on the weather forecast instead, and curls up on the sofa, letting the meteorologist's voice wash over her. It's a smooth and calm voice, accentless and inflectionless as it promises rain and fog and advises her to bring an umbrella. Suzu's head nods, lolling against the couch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em> Why did you come?</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her thoughts feel fuzzy; the image on the television screen is snowy with static. With some effort, she blinks, focusing on the image on the screen. The weatherman is someone in a dark suit and with silvery hair, eyes framed by a bold, dark pair of glasses; he looks incredibly poised and proper; safe and staid and boring and generic. She tries to change the channel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Gods without devotees to dedicate prayers to them must be lonely. Is that why you came here?</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Click, click. The image on the screen stays on the young man, now moving on to the international weather. Suzu tries to turn the volume down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>That's why you're here, isn't it? </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Finally, blessedly, the screen goes dark. But Suzu is wide awake now, her skin prickling, too hot and too tight on her body. Her heart is pounding, throbbing like it's going to burst out through her mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The rest of the class is abuzz with news of the Midnight Channel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Don't you wanna find out who your soulmate is?" one of her classmates asks. His name is Yosuke Hanamura; he hangs around her out of something he calls 'kinship', and what Chie Satonaka darkly mutters is more akin to 'skinship'. The two glare daggers at each other. Suzu sets her books on her desk and straightens them, aligning the edges together. "No," she says and that cuts through Chie and Yosuke's bickering.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Yosuke is the first to recover. "Huh? Why not?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Well, why would she be interested? Love, relationships, soulmates; that's not her priority here. Then, what is? "Because we already met," she says without thinking. Chie and Yosuke's agog and enraptured faces tell her that this, perhaps, isn't the right answer. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What was it like?" Yukiko Amagi asks, hushed and almost hesitant. Suzu pretends she doesn't hear, because she doesn't know the answer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So, long-distance, then? Think it'll work out?" Yosuke does a poor job of sounding disinterested. "D'you still catch up? Think it'll last?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No. I don't know." Suzu has no idea what possesses her to say anything. She should just have kept her mouth shut. "He's the one that left me behind. He's no longer here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>People are shocked when Saki Konishi dies. And why shouldn't they be? "Nobody expects anyone our age to die. It's just so sudden, y'know?" Chie whispers in an undertone to Suzu during assembly that day. Yosuke is a few rows ahead, eyes downcast, mouth set in a line.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>No, Suzu does not know. "But why," she says, and a few heads half-turn towards her. "Anyone can die. Nobody is above death, not even the gods themselves."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Chie shushes her, but the damage is done. The students around her are already whispering amongst themselves, none of them meeting Suzu's eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>In the other world, she sees far clearer than she does in the real world. The shadows part before her, careful to keep away -- save for Yosuke's shadow, who sneers at her with the same venom it holds for its human self.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You don't belong here, and you never will, and you have no intention of ever fitting in ... do you?" the shadow says -- and it's looking at Suzu when it says this, even as Yosuke's voice rises in a cry of furious denial. "You think you're better than everyone else. You think you're different."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The voice in her head -- the one that sounds both familiar and unknown at the same time -- only laughs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>I am thine. Thou, art mine. The time has come. Open thy eyes, and search for the truth you cast everything aside to find.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Izanagi," she murmurs, the syllables heavy with familiarity.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu buys herself a spear from Daidara's shop, something elaborate and ornate and hideously expensive, something that sings out to her from where it's mounted on the wall amongst multitudes of other weapons -- practical katanas and tantos, kunai and shuriken and tessens lined up in orderly rows. She can't explain the rush of warmth she feels when she touches the spear that the weaponsmith gruffly calls the Ame-no-Nuhoko, a work of art standing apart from all his other wares.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It doesn't feel right taking that away from him -- but it doesn't feel right ignoring the compulsion that pulls her to it, either. At the end of the negotiations, Suzu folds up the payment agreement and raw material supply contract and slides it into the darkest corner of her bag. It's ridiculous. She can't afford this. She should be budgeting more carefully, planning and allocating resources evenly to every member of the team. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Budgeting and accounting and resource allocation. Suzu squeezes the bridge of her nose. None of this had ever mattered before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So, about your soulmate," Yosuke says on the morning after the last showing on the Midnight Channel. "You said he's no longer here. What did you mean by that, anyway?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu watches as Chie dials Yukiko's number over and over, chewing at her bottom lip each time the line switches to messaging. <em>Give it a rest</em>, she wants to say - whether to Chie, or to Yosuke, she has no idea -- but what she says instead is, "he's not here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Not in Inaba?" Yosuke pushes. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Something like that." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You mean, he lived here? He's from here and went somewhere else?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The questions annoy her. How should she know? She's got nothing to go off of except for the memory of a face. A face she can't even remember now. Someone polished and proper, perhaps just handsome enough to not be generic. Try as she might, Suzu can't recall what her boyfriend was meant to look like. "I came here for a reason," she says, and leaves it at that. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>In the other world, people's views of themselves and the ones around them are clearer, too. It's confirmed by Chie's shadow, who divulges truths that Suzu supposes she should be shocked to hear. Oddly enough, she's comforted instead; thankful, even.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"People are so cruel," the shadow says. It's watching Suzu as it speaks, its voice almost a caress. "Always comparing themselves to each other. It would be so much easier, so much better, if everyone were one and the same. Nobody better or worse than the other. That's what you want. That's what we all really want, isn't it?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No!" Chie says, the protest bursting loud and bold into the air. But Suzu just says, "I don't know" and shifts the weight of her spear, the sharp blade pointed down. "You tell me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So, you've been here almost two weeks now." Her uncle's newspapers crinkle as he flips a page. It's one of the rare nights he's home early; Nanako, humming next to Suzu as she puts away the dinner cutlery, is almost beside herself with joy. It's the most animated Suzu has seen her being.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah." Suzu places the dishes she's just washed on the draining board and wipes her hands. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Dojima fidgets a little, newspapers rustling ostentatiously. "W-well, um. How's things? School okay? Fitting in alright?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Everything's fine," Suzu says, because it is. She's joined a sports club, a culture club, been conscripted into the health committee, she's kept occupied enough by the extracurricular activity of delving into another world to fight the subconscious manifestations of her friends' innermost thoughts and wishes; she's taken several part-time jobs -- tutoring, origami and envelope-folding, daycare assistance -- and met plenty of people even outside school -- the morose deliveryman Namatame, the sullen dead-eyed Mitsuo, the kindly old lady Shiroku who gives her discounts when it rains. "Everything's ... good."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Good," Dojima echoes, still seemingly intent on perusing the news headlines; he coughs and clears his throat. "Good, that's ... that's great. I'm glad. I was worried you wouldn't like it, I know small town life's very different from the city."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I like it," Suzu says and she knows she means it. She likes knowing everyone around town by name or by face, she likes the way everyone talks to each other, as though there really aren't any barriers between people. "I think it's nice."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Yukiko's castle isn't warm -- but it feels unpleasantly so, the lush red walls around Suzu, reminding her of biology documentaries and anatomy textbooks; a cramped and claustrophobic feeling, like she's trapped in the belly of a beast.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She doesn't understand. Chie and Yosuke power on ahead, light on their feet and quick to summon their personas. Suzu calls for a time-out and sets herself against the wall, trying not to let her fatigue show.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You don't look so good," Chie says, forehead creased in worried lines. She stays still long enough to pass Suzu a TaP soda, before resuming her restless hopping from foot to foot. It gives Suzu a headache to watch her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm fine," Suzu says and pops the tab of the can. The drink is lukewarm by now, a sickly sweet ambrosia that sprays out in a sluggish burst from all its jostling in the bag. "Say, I have a question. How do you feel when you summon your persona?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Like flying. Like I'm really free and alive and there's nothing to be afraid of," Yosuke says almost immediately. "Like a cold shower or a refreshing drink after a good workout," Chie adds. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh. Really?" Suzu clicks her jaw shut. Perhaps something's wrong with her, with the way calling Izanagi out feels like dying, like she's been shot through with lightning and her skin is peeling and sloughing off her and her brain is melting oozing and fatty out of her ears and her nerves are on fire and she's going to burst out of her skin and its rupturing and splitting like the peel of an overripe fruit and her blood is steaming and bubbling and boiling in her veins--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She shakes her head. Chie and Yosuke's worried faces swim into focus in front of her, and she grits her teeth. She's fine. It's fine. Everything will be fine as long as she sticks to the plan. Rescue Yukiko, make it back out of the castle alive, watch the Midnight Channel, reach out to the truth--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu dreams of Yukiko for days.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>That's not altogether unexpected. She's dreamt about her other schoolmates before -- of riding a bicycle alongside Yosuke in the sunset, everything washed in blurry streams of pink and gold as though viewed through a marble held up to the light; of test results and standing up on stage in a full dress recital for drama club, wearing something white and bridal and difficult to move in, Yumi in the front row nodding curtly at her performance as she golf claps. But other times, she dreams of things that tighten her nerves and makes her heart tremble in her chest, a prelude or omen of things to come, or could come to pass.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's storming for most of the week, lightning splitting the sky and the clouds heavy with the promise of rain. Suzu dreams of falling through one of the many trapdoors in Yukiko's castle until she finds herself in the burnt-out shell of a ballroom. The walls are stained with ash and soot from where flames lapped and licked, reaching higher than Suzu is tall and the remnants of flames lap at the tiles around her, creeping across the ground. In the midst lies a birdcage, its door open and bent out of shape -- but curled inside is something cracked and ruined and misshapen, a bird with a human face turned under its wing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The thing stirs as Suzu approaches, then hurls itself against the bars of its cage. "You left me to die," the bird with Yukiko's face says, softly at first, then growing louder, louder. The flames rise higher, higher, a crescendo, an inferno; the tips of the bird's feathers catch alight and sizzle into grey ash and Suzu can smell the stink of burning hair.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>In the cage and through the bars, the bird reaches for Suzu with outstretched wings, the flesh and feathers smouldering off the cracked bones of human hands leaking fatty gobbets of marrow. Covered in the grey pall of ash and grave-dust, it looks just like her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You said you'd rescue me! You said you'd take me away, you said I'd be free. You left me here. You left me!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I didn't--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You left me," the human-faced thing cries and this time, Suzu thinks it sounds like herself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You left me," the Yukiko-faced thing cries. Suzu is relieved to hear that it sounds and looks just like ... well, Yukiko, really. She doesn't know what she was expecting. "Instead of rescuing me, my dear prince left me here to rot!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"W-what, no!" Chie says, completely forgetting about her earlier objections to being called a prince.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"If only," Yukiko's shadow says, and her voice is almost a whisper. It's staring directly at Suzu, its eyes bright and golden through the reddish haze. "If only I was strong enough to take my own fate into my own hands, if only I was strong enough to escape by myself."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You're not me," Suzu mumbles. The others turn to look at her, and she tries to smile. "I-- um, sorry. I just wanted to try saying it. Just once."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>In its cage, the Yukiko-faced bird smiles. "Yes, of course. And I'm not you." It bows its head, hair shining in dark threads over its face. "But when you find your answer and burn this world away ... take me with you. That's all I ask."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The personas that arise out of the sea of Suzu's soul -- and the ones that she has the closest affinity with -- are all rather distressingly ugly. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Yomotsu-shikome. Yomotsu-ikusa. Hiruko and Awashima. Hideous skeletal things and squashed, misshapen babies strangled in reeds, their extremities fading to reddish foam. All clawing and clamouring for her attention and acknowledgement alike. Suzu stares down at their cards on the table before her. Those are the ones that answer her call most readily, the ones that result in the fewest fusion accidents, the ones who deign to evolve stronger skills to aid her in her battles. She kneads her knuckles against her forehead. "Is this meant to be a joke? Or are you trying to tell me something?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Opposite her, Margaret smiles, inscrutable as a sphinx. Even Marie cracks a rare grin, and attempts to smother it behind her hand. Only Igor's expression stays the same, unblinking eyes not leaving the cards he's shuffling in his hands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"To know others is to know yourself. And to know yourself, is to know others. Even despite your circumstances, you are still a guest of the Velvet Room. We will continue to aid and assist you through the course of your journey."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Nanako warms up to her in stops and starts -- sometimes reaching out, sometimes shying back, always as though afraid of being burnt. Suzu continues to reach out to her with a wary sort of patience, the same kind she'd employ on a skittish cat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She doesn't shy away when Suzu goes to her room after the lecture from Dojima. Suzu finds her sitting on the floor, staring down at a framed photo -- which she hides behind her back when she hears Suzu coming.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hey," Suzu says, awkwardly wedged in the open door. "Are you ... okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Nanako's eyes are red and overbright. She swipes at them with the backs of her hands. "Yeah," she says, but her lip is still wobbling. Suzu sidles into the room, and folds herself down beside her cousin. "Did Dad yell at you too?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her shoulders sag when Suzu nods. "Dad's so stupid," she says, and begins to bawl anew. "He's been so stupid ever since Mom-- Mommy, she--!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu has never gotten that close to Nanako before, never touched her so familiarly before. It still feels the right thing to do, to envelop Nanako in her arms and let her cousin curl up into her lap and press her face into her chest and cry, the sound muffled in Suzu's shirt. Something in her heart tenses and pulls taut, threatening to snap; it feels like she can't breathe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>No sound comes from downstairs. Suzu wonders if her uncle has stepped out, left to go somewhere to cool his heels for the night. It makes her angry in a distant, irrational sort of way. All men are the same, she decides, all running away from things they're too afraid to confront.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She must have said that part out loud, because Nanako turns her face up to Suzu. "That's not true," she says, her voice small and punctured by hiccoughs. "Dad's ... he's very brave, he doesn't run away. He chases after bad people. To make sure they don't do bad things."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yes," Suzu says, at a loss. She pats Nanako on the head, and eases her hair out of the pigtails. "He does it because he's protecting everyone. Protecting you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Protecting everyone," Nanako repeats after her, musing. "That means he loves other people too, doesn't he? And he doesn't really just love me?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Well, that's not a question Suzu feels like she's prepared or even equipped to answer. "Of course he does," she hedges. Nanako's gaze, wide and round and sad, drops to the floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's because Mom isn't here, isn't it?" Nanako asks. For a heart-stopping moment, Suzu thinks she's going to cry again, but she just draws something out from behind her back. It's the photo she'd been looking at, the one she'd hidden when Suzu walked in. Suzu tilts her head to get a better look -- it's a picture of a happy family; her uncle looks younger and more carefree than she's ever seen him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Looking at the photo feels like an intrusion, an invasion of privacy; with a lurch of her heart, Suzu realises she's never seen pictures of the family around the house before. Nestled in her lap, Nanako passes a hand over the glass of the photo frame, pointing at the faces, in turn. "That's Mom, and the baby's me. And ... that's ... Dad hasn't looked like this for a long time. Why did Dad stop smiling?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't know," Suzu says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I wish that we're all together again," Nanako says, still gazing down at the happy faces immortalised on glossy photo paper. "I wish that nobody ever has to die."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu spends a lot of time at the shrine. It's a still and quiet place, shaded by cypresses; tucked away from the busy main stretch of the shopping district, Suzu can almost believe she's in another world, one step closer to the gods.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It also seems a little forlorn and desolate; she's never seen a keeper of any description, tending to the lonely little patch of ground. Yet, there are signs of it being kept cared for -- the steps are always brushed free from fallen leaves and the vermillion paint of the torii gates is bright and vivid. Clusters of ema rattle against one another in the whisper of passing wind; when Suzu inspects them, she finds one made of old, worn wood, darker and rougher than the rest. It's plain and unadorned, the whorls and contours of the wood ill-suited to being decorated. The wish written on it is inscribed faintly, like water barely mixed with ink. Whoever wrote it has beautiful handwriting, elegant and calligraphic. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>I wish to know what people want.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The fox at the shrine watches her with bright, beady eyes. Suzu feels compelled to reach out to it, though she has no idea why; on the most part, the shrine fox ignores the people that come to pay their respects, and they, in turn, leave it alone. Suzu can't help but feel inexplicably slighted when it keeps its distance from her as she beckons out to it, turning away from her with a diffident air. Suzu blinks at her fingers; did she offend it somehow?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu next tries a different tack, buying a hefty bottle of sake from Konishi Liquor that's nearly a quarter of her height. The boy behind the counter is sullen as Suzu hems and haws over the different blends; if he's surprised at her choice of junmai daiginjo, he doesn't show it -- and neither does he bat an eyelid when she explains, without being asked, that she's getting it for her uncle as a gift for his hospitality. She carts the bottle home and feels almost like a criminal; that, and she'll have to be even more careful with her budget this month. With luck, the sake should last for quite a while.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She sets out little red-lacquered cups of sake at the shrine after that. Come rain, shine, fog, or clouds, she refills the flat, tiny cups and tosses some coins into the offertory box and rings the bell; when she leaves, she knows the fox is watching her from somewhere in the shadows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It takes several weeks of this before the fox deigns to sit next to her. Suzu doesn't attempt to pet it. They perch a little to the side of the stone steps leading to the shrine and watch passersby in silence. The tip of the fox's tail flicks, brushing against Suzu's wrist. In Suzu's hand, it sets down the flat lacquered cups it had been carrying carefully in its teeth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu fills both. The fox laps daintily from one, then stares pointedly at her until she picks up the other. The sake burns her throat and makes her eyes water, but that seems to please the fox; it bobs its head once then yaps, a short and sharp sound.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't know," Suzu says once she's stopped coughing from the alcohol. The fox cocks it's head to the side -- is it even possible for an animal to look skeptical? -- and Suzu feels a little foolish for speaking out loud. She's talking to a fox, for god's sake. "I just wanted to catch your attention. I don't really know why, either."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The fox's muzzle twitches.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You could have ignored me if you wanted to."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the fox flick an ear. "So I suppose that means you want something out of me, too?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The fox yaps again and drops something else into Suzu's other hand, then spreads its jaws in a wide yawn, displaying neat white teeth. Suzu glances down at the objects in her hand, and turns the worn wooden emas over in her palm. One is written in a child's handwriting, the hiragana large and painstakingly precise. The other -- the fox takes it back before she can get a better look at it -- but she knows, even without reading, that it's the one with strange wish on it.Old, dark, rough wood, the ridges and grain of the wood grazing her skin. She frowns. "Hold it. Are you ... <em>handballing</em>?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Next to her, the fox pants, open-mouthed, tongue lolling; it almost feels like it's laughing at her.</p>
  <p>.</p>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>
        <span>Her spear lasts her very well through the months, long after she's already had to replace everyone else's equipment; at least she's gotten her money's worth out of it, though Suzu still feels guilty thinking about the fact that she's been paying this off for months. On his part, old man Daidara is evasive at first when she tries to find out more about this masterpiece he's conceded to entrusting to her, but at the same time she isn't overly bothered -- everyone wants to talk at some point, so she just waits. In the meantime, she plies him with goods -- bits and pieces plundered from shadows; glittering insect horns and monster teeth, hunks of arcane metal and otherworldly wood and hide which he shapes and smelts and tempers into new weaponry.</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>One day, he tells her about a relative who runs an antique shop in a distant city, who'd fused personas together with the blank, shells of soulless, nameless weapons -- whatever that even means. </span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"Names are power," he says. "Remember that. Why do you think gods have so many epithets by which they are known? The same is true of a weapon. Give it a name, and in your hands, it will show you its true form."</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>That is all very esoteric, but Suzu doesn't say anything. She's come to appreciate the old man and his company, though his wisdom is sometimes difficult to grasp.</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"So, what your relative does with those nameless weapons. Can everyone do it? Can anyone learn how to do it?" Suzu asks, and old man Daidara snorts.</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"Is everyone an artisan? No, of course not. It's the same idea -- in principle -- as blessed weapons forged while reading scriptures and sutras over them, but how many can put that into practise? How many can imbue cold steel with the essence of gods and monsters? It is the strength of belief -- from the maker, and the wielder -- that lends them their power. The same is true of gods, too. Gods without devotees to call their names and worship them are lonely and powerless."</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"I guess you're right." He's passionate about his craft, which is enviable. Maybe one day she'll feel that strongly about something. But for now, Suzu is content to sit in his shop after school and help him sort and catalogue the things she's brought back for him, while he tells her of his relative who'd visited at the close of the previous year -- and he tells her, too, of the boy who'd come into the shop at the dawn of the new year.</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"He entrusted us with a card, and my relative knew what he intended of us. It was our only collaboration." Daidara is poring over the materials Suzu's brought back today, peering through a jeweler's loupe as he assesses the grade of the items; had she not known better, she'd have thought he's addressing the objects scattered over his worktable -- he does tend to do that sometimes; she chalks it down to some artistic thing. "Strange kid. Even looking at him, we felt like it wouldn't be a waste of our time, that the job he gave us would be worth our while. It's every artist's dream, you know. To have the chance to create their own magnum opus, their greatest work to surpass all others. Something they're proud to call their masterpiece. You can ask different people what they want, and they'll tell you different things -- but ask any artist, any craftsman that question -- and that's what they'll all say."</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"Mm." Suzu doesn't really understand, but she nods anyway. "But ... that boy, the one who commissioned you. Tell me about him."</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"Hmph. What is there to say?" Daidara scratches his chin, leaving sooty fingerprints on the skin. He wipes his hands on his apron, then plucks the loupe out of his eye. "That boy ... what an upstart. He said he wasn't coming back to pick up what he commissioned, even though he paid for the work. He said it was a gift, he told me to sell it to the one who looked like they'd need it the most."</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>Suzu, writing down some more notes on the index cards before her, feels a cramp working its way into her fingers. She loosens her hand, stretching. "What about the persona? Er-- the, what was it, the essence of the god or prayer that he told you to put into the weapon?"</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"Oh, that. Hah, I thought he had a sense of humour, that boy."</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"Yes?" Suzu asks, prompting.</span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <span>"The card he gave us ..." Daidara notes something down on his index card, and sets his brush down on its inkwell. "It was Izanagi-no-Okami."</span>
      </p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. summer (of love).</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The days grow longer, the sun riding higher in the air. The nights are humid as well; Suzu sleeps with the window wide open and the fan blasting into her face, tossing and turning in her futon until she kicks the blankets right off. Her skin crawls with sweat and more often than not, she wishes she could shed it, pulling it right off her. Several times, she wakes up with the sheets tangled around her legs and her pillow over her face. No matter what she does, she can't get comfortable; the air feels thick and sticky and heavy. Thunder groans and rumbles in the distance of most nights, and Suzu finds, inexplicably, that her joints start to ache.</p><p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p>She progresses through the bathhouse at a snail's pace, much slower than even Yukiko's castle. The heat and humidity presses down on her from every side, the air so heavy and choked with steam that Suzu feels like she's going to suffocate. The coal braziers burning at every corner radiate waves of heat towards her and she shrinks away from them but there's never really any respite from the warmth. Only Chie seems to tolerate it about as well as Suzu does, which isn't well at all; Yukiko and Yosuke take point, both shooting frequent looks back at Chie and Suzu when they think she isn't looking. Suzu's just relieved she has someone else to commiserate with as they traipse dismally through the steam-fogged hallways.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Kanji's shadow awaits them with an air of offended impatience. "You sure took your time!" it says, tittering. "And here I was thinking you all didn't care about poor little old me!"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu wipes the sweat from her face and tries to heft her spear. It feels heavy in her hands; she can barely lift her head in the heat. The shadow sniffs. "It's pretty rude of you, you know. Deceiving people into thinking you care ... that's just as bad as deceiving yourself."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Shut the hell up," Kanji growls. He's in remarkably good shape for someone who's spent the better part of the last few weeks trapped in a sweltering bathhouse with his own shadow. Suzu has to admit he's rather more lively than she is -- any longer, and she's going to be the one that needs rescuing. "I ain't deceiving anyone, and I ain't deceiving myself!"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that." The shadow waves, dismissive, and then swivels to point at Suzu and the rest in turn. "But all of you are just the same! Deceiving yourselves into thinking you're doing <em>sooo</em> much and helping solve the case, deceiving yourself into thinking you're <em>sooo</em> much better than me, it's disgusting. And you ... you," it says, finger aimed at Suzu, "are the worst of them all."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Me?" Suzu says, a little blankly. Her thoughts are sluggish, darting away from her like fish in a pond, scattered by a thrown rock. "What? Why?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"You and me, we're just the same. Deceiving ourselves about just who we are. Refusing to accept ourselves for what we are. You get it, don't you?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Before anyone can speak, Kanji makes a grab for one of the wooden washing basins stacked at the corner, and chucks it at his shadow in a wordless roar.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Yosuke pushes her out of the way of a direct hit from one of Kanji's shadow companions, and Suzu feels angry. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Or at least, she thinks she does. She breathes in hard -- takes in the hot, stifling, muggy air and squares her shoulders, standing straight as the space around her crackles with the burnt ozone of lightning. The others retreat as the electricity whips through the clouds of steam and Suzu welcomes it all.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Ah. So this is what the others mean when they say summoning a persona feels wonderful. With the energy rushing through her livewire veins and humming in her teeth and jaw, Suzu finally understands. She breathes in and the world sparks and jumps around her; everything looks sharper than before. And, for the first time in weeks, for the first time since the seasons turned, she feels alive.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>She dreams of floating in water. It's unpleasantly lukewarm against her skin, washing over her face and breasts and lapping between her legs. Her eyes sting from the salt; her hair clings to her face like wet seaweed, streaming down over her mouth and nose. Someone in black stands over her, holding her spear; their face is obscured by the fog and the cover of roiling storm clouds. Suzu opens her mouth to call out, but no sound comes; the figure plunges the glittering spear into her abdomen and starts to move, mixing, swirling, stirring her innards.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>From the sea of her soul -- or the sea around her, really -- emerge more personas. Her body sparks and tingles and when she gasps from the sensation, the salt water fills her mouth. Personas with names like Saku-ikazuchi and Tsuchi-ikazuchi, bright bolts that join with the lightning flashing in the sky from distant storms. Her head dips under the water again.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>When her face next breaks the surface of the water, the figure with the spear is gone. Margaret and Marie stand there instead, the former with her great blue book open in her hands, coaxing the new personas in. The latter stares down her nose at Suzu with pity and disgust on her face, then looks away.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu wakes up in the middle of class, sweating and clammy, and has to rush to the bathroom to throw up. Mr. Morooka, muttering darkly about how there had better not be any morning sickness and teen pregnancies occurring on his watch, sends her to the nurse's office.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>It's science period by the time Suzu returns to class. Overhead, the fans rotate slowly, blades chopping through the air in lazy whirls that barely alleviate the stifling heat. Ms. Kashiwagi is in the midst of a lesson about life cycles.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"--and everything living decomposes when it dies, its nutrients returning to nourish the earth so that the cycle can start again. Can anyone tell me what are the best conditions in which organic matter breaks down?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The class gazes back sluggishly. Chie's slumped over in her seat, fanning herself with the pages of her open textbook, a glazed and vacant look settled firmly on her face. She looks like she's fallen asleep with her eyes open. Suzu has no idea how Yosuke can wear two -- <em>two</em>! -- shirts in this weather. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The silence drags on; outside, cicadas drone in an uninterrupted whine. Ms. Kashiwagi clears her throat and asks the question again. "Heat," Suzu says at last, her voice sounding thin and faraway. "Humidity. Time of the year."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Full marks. Very good!" Ms. Kashiwagi says, and writes it down on the board. Her chalk squeaks across the surface. "Dead things rot faster in the sun."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The nightclub stretches around Suzu like a living thing, the bass of its music like the beating drum of a chthonic heart. The dizzying patterns splashed luridly on every surface makes her feel nauseous; it makes the walls almost pulse in time with her heart, squeezing and constricting and pounding in infernal rhythm. It makes her feel like her head's about to pop open.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Who's the real me?!" Rise's shadow cries and Suzu feels her heart ache. "Who am I?! You understand, right? You know what it's like, don't you? Then why-- why can't you accept me, why is it so wrong for me to exist?!" </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>It drags its hand down her chest, fingers splayed, clawing. "Look at me," it begs, as if Suzu can look at anything else. "This is me, this is who I really am! And-- knowing this is the truth, knowing the real me -- can you still accept me? Will you still welcome me?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Of course," Suzu says and holds out her hand before she can stop herself. Even though this isn't her shadow, even though this isn't her truth to accept -- still, she will invite, and still, she will beckon. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Thank you," the shadow says, even though they both know nothing can be done and nothing will happen -- not until Rise accepts it herself. And then, it says, "I hope it will be the same for you, too. I hope you will be as kind to the parts of you that you wish never existed."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu flinches back. The spell is broken. The power grows and swells and hums like a living thing. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>And yet, when Suzu falters back, Rise advances instead and confronts her shadow with remarkable calm and grace. Yet, what her shadow says lingers in Suzu's mind; when the time comes, or if the time comes -- will she be able to do the same?</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"But why," Teddie's shadow asks, and its voice is a whisper that sends a twinge of anxiety through Suzu's jaw. "What sense is there in yearning for the truth and in yearning for acceptance? Lie to yourself. Live in blissful ignorance. At your core, you and I, we are both hollow. Empty. You know this, as does he. How can any of you find something that doesn't exist? How can you find something when you know not what you search for?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"No!" Teddie wails, flopping like a landed fish. "Stop saying those things, they don't make any sense! Sensei will tell you-- right, Sensei?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The silence drags for a long time. Suzu can feel the weight of the others' eyes on her -- waiting for her to say something, anything. The shadow's words leave her feeling cold. She takes a step back, then another.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Because we hafta, dammit!" Kanji's voice shatters the silence. "Because if we don't, then who else will? Right, Senpai?!"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>They all look at her, like they expect her to know how to respond, trusting in her to lead them out of this mess. She should answer; she should say something. And yet, for the first time, she doesn't know what to say.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu thinks about it sometimes, about why she doesn't have a shadow. Maybe it's because she can relate a little to them, to the ones that can speak their minds and express their thoughts. Fretting about fitting in, fears of being compared to others, feeling trapped and boxed-in, not knowing who she is when she's still in the blush of youth -- it's all a normal part of life and being a teenager and growing up, isn't it?</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"'Course it is, it's all a part of the experience of life!" Kou is yelling, louder now.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>... there are perhaps better places to have a weighty conversation like this than in the middle of Okina Station when they're on the way home after a failed attempt at a group date event. Suzu shuts her mouth, wishing she'd never said anything -- but it's too late to stop Kou and Daisuke's argument. She tucks her hands behind her back and studies the train timetable as though it's deeply interesting while Kou gesticulates passionately at her mid-rant.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>She's immensely grateful the station is empty at the moment -- they'd missed the earlier train by minutes. Behind her by the turnstiles, Kou ploughs on over Daisuke's attempts to get a word in edgewise. "Making mistakes, being scared and uncertain, not knowing what's up next when you've got your whole life ahead of you ... it's normal, yeah. You take all the fun out of life if you try to make it such that you don't have to feel pain or failure. It's what makes you human, y'know? Life isn't just about living safely and never taking risks and half-assing everything! What's the point of living life like that?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>When he puts it like that, perhaps he really does have a point. Suzu smooths down the thin pleats of her white-crepe sundress as a warm breeze stirs the thin material, threatening to make it billow upwards. She squints into the setting sun, at the underbellies of distant clouds painted pink and gold; the light that shines in through the train station and slices along the bottom hem of her dress is rich and coppery, like the heart of a surging flame; the heat of the afternoon filters in through the corrugated metal roof of the platform, beating down over Suzu's head.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>News of the group date event spreads amongst her friends.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Wow, partner, I didn't know you were into that sort of thing," Yosuke says. Then, "why didn't you invite us?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"It's not-- I wasn't--" Suzu grits her teeth, and takes a breath. "Whatever. Think what you like, we were doing it for Daisuke. I wasn't really interested."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Really? Why? Wait. Is it because of your boyfriend? The long-distance one? The one that left you?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Just for a moment, just for a little bit, Suzu wants to strangle him. Maybe with the cords of his own headphones, so it'll look more like an accident. "Yes!" she snaps out, then regrets it when Yosuke chokes, like she actually does throttle him. Perhaps giving out such a straightforward answer was the wrong idea. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>... well, she can't take back what she says after that. Perhaps it's because of the summer holidays looming tantalisingly close in the distance -- but nobody's minds are on school; the only thing anyone seems able to think about is the prospect of a hot and steamy summer romance, of teenage fervour and passion reaching fever pitch and boiling over. It makes Suzu want to scream.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Ai lends her condolences in her own roundabout way. "He probably wasn't even worth it, anyway," she says. Suzu doesn't take offence; she knows it's Ai's way of trying to be kind. "If a guy won't even give you time of day after you go to all the effort to transferring just to be closer to him, he can go shove it up his--" </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Wait. Wait, what? Suzu stares, open-mouthed and uncomprehending at Ai. What did she just say?</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"I said, if that ungrateful bastard can't appreciate you, he can shove it--"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"No, the other thing. The part about me transferring here to be closer to him."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"It's why you came to Inaba, isn't it?" Ai says. "So you wouldn't have to be apart? Or was it to look for him? One or the other, Hanamura said so."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Oh, god. Suzu is going to <em>kill</em> him. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>It's not even the end to the rumours. Yumi stiffly excuses her from drama practise for the remainder of the term and Rise heaps sympathy on her -- and the open offer of a shoulder, or bosom, to cry on, which Suzu doesn't quite take -- for the heartlessness of a city boy who didn't want to wait for her during just a year apart and is implied to be gallivanting around with a host of other girls. It's with a deep and mounting horror that Suzu learns of her reputation either as a jilted woman forging connections with anyone she can in order to get back at her ex, or else a clingy and lonely girl grasping for any bonds she can to feel less alone after being rejected in her grand show of dedication in moving to another town. Even the faculty staff have clucked amongst themselves about her and her endless laundry list of extracurricular activities and social commitments, expressing sympathy and admiration for her efforts to get over her boyfriend, bless her soul. Good lord. No wonder Mr. Morooka thinks she's easy. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"It's not like that!" she explodes to Naoki as they take inventory at the nurse's office, and he pats her on the back. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Yeah, I get it. People talk all kinds of nonsense about stuff they don't understand. It was pretty bad the first few days after Sis died, too."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>That mollifies her, somewhat. At least she's got some actual, sane friends. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Kou and Daisuke come up to her a few days after the group date fiasco; Daisuke is apologetic and self-flagellating about how all they ever seemed to talk about after practise was his own girl troubles, about how he's a shitty friend for not noticing her broken heart sooner. Not in as elaborate words, though Suzu appreciates the sentiment nonetheless, misplaced as it is. Having friends sure is nice. "Daisuke's a dope, but at least his heart's in the right place," Kou says, and then, "so, where's this jerk at now? Summer holidays are coming up, we could take a daytrip and settle things with your ex. Should we beat him up for you?" He swings his arm, as though winding it up, then smacks his fist into his palm. "Get in quick, while I'm on a roll of solving my friends' romantic woes. Man, I might be on to something there. Just call me Ichijo. Kou Ichijo, Yasogami High's one-stop shop for all your relationship counselling needs. Basketball? Never heard of her."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu sincerely hopes he and Rise will never get chummy, or they genuinely will go on a warpath to punch her mysterious ex's face in. Meanwhile, Daisuke utters a sound somewhere between a snort and a noise of protest and discomfort. "Please, don't," Suzu says, but they refuse to listen to her. In the end, just to stop her friends from stirring themselves into a righteous fury over avenging her wounded pride and honour or whatever, she says something like, "nobody can do anything, he's gone" but that just seems to fuel the confusion. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Y'mean, like, to a different town? City? Prefecture?" Chie asks.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Country? Continent?" Yukiko hazards. She still has a wistful look in her eyes, like she hasn't entirely let go of the idea of fleeing Inaba and her responsibilities.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu shakes her head; the ends of her bangs poke into her eyes. "No. He's no longer in this world."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>And that just makes things worse.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>At some point, Ai decides to stage an intervention -- an intervention in the form of a shopping trip which she dubs 'girl time' and 'retail therapy' as she bodily hauls Suzu to the train station.</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p><em>Help me,</em> Suzu pleads with her eyes at Kou and Daisuke, who continue setting up for practise, voices too loud as they discuss upcoming tournaments. <em>Traitors</em>. She has no choice but to be hustled out of the gym and onto the next train to Okina, Ai marching ahead and making straight for Croco Fur without bothering to check if Suzu follows.</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"Why?" Suzu asks. She'd hoped the gossip over her stagnant love life would come to an end after summer and with most of the year's excitement over the field trip -- evidently, to no avail. Ai's memory is brutally good for some things.</p>
      <p>Ai strides into the shop like she owns it -- and at this point, she might as well. "Because you're evidently still hung up about it," she says as though it's the most obvious fact in the world. "And like any good, self-respecting friend, I can't just stand by and watch you mope and suffer like this." </p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"I'm not moping--"</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"Whatever. Just pick something," Ai says and, at a loss, Suzu complies. She goes for loose sundresses in heavy eyelet lace and maxi skirts with scalloped hems; high-necked and long-sleeved blouses in soft diaphanous fabric, everything white and flowing or covered in pleats, loose enough to obscure her figure. Ai waits outside the fitting rooms as she tries them on and expresses her disapproval -- 'too dowdy', 'too old-fashioned', 'too maternal', 'too bridal'. In the end she leaps up from her seat and stalks through the store, amassing a collection of outfits in her arms.</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"Why," Suzu manages before she's piled with a riot of clothing she wouldn't choose for herself in a thousand years. Ai only clicks her fingers and flicks her wrist until Suzu backs into the fitting room. Ai squeezes in with her, and shuts the door with a click.</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"Guys like pretty girls," Ai says, sitting on the little stool wedged to the side of the cramped space as Suzu tries on something with leopard print. "And I'm going to help you get your revenge on that stupid boy so you'll stop moping and everyone else stops talking nonsense."</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"Huh," is all Suzu says before Ai shakes her head and tugs the next outfit off the hanger, tossing it to her. Has she been moping? She's barely noticed. "I-it really doesn't matter--"</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"All we need to do is get you nice and dolled up, send him some snaps of you having fun and looking drop-dead gorgeous, then he'll <em>really</em> know what he's missing then. You want to be loved, right? You want him to come back, right?"</p>
      <p>Suzu stares at her, the realisation dawning only belatedly. Ai, bless her heart, has missed the memo behind everyone's hushed skittering around the topic of Suzu and her erstwhile ex. Ai, bless her heart, hasn't jumped to the conclusion that he's dead.</p>
      <p>Well, but-- is he? Suzu doesn't even know herself. It's just something she'd said at the spur of a moment, prodded on all sides by questions she can't answer.</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>With her arms full of clothes, Suzu bursts out laughing and says, "I don't know."</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"What?" For the first time since they'd left school, Ai falls silent. "What d'you mean, you don't know? Isn't that what you want? I mean, isn't that what everyone wants?"</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"I'm--"</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"To be loved, not wanting to be left behind or forgotten, to be wanted and needed ... what other reason is there?"</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>The mood in the little cubicle turns heavy, dense and congealing like molasses. Ai doesn't say anything and Suzu, feeling bad for the salesperson who's been watching the Ai-shaped hurricane tearing through the racks, buys a maxi dress -- ankle-length and high-necked and loose-sleeved, cinched at the waist with the crimson blaze of a belt.</p>
    </div>
    <div>
      <p>"I'll wear it," Suzu promises Ai, who only shrugs and looks away. "If I ever see him again."</p>
    </div>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Summer wears on. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"I'm sorry," Yosuke says when they're waiting for Rise around Marukyu Tofu. He's hovering with his nose inches away from the ganmodoki, as though intent on studying the pattern of the vegetables in the tofu fritter. "I didn't-- sorry. I had no idea. You should've told me I'd gone too far, man, I was just curious."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"What?" Suzu inspects rolls of fresh beancurd skins shining smooth and slick in the light. She's been making a lot of tofu-related recipes even since long before Rise had even appeared on the scene. The subtle and restrained flavours are very pleasing to her palate, though she gets the feeling that her uncle and cousin are eager for something that isn't agedashi tofu or hiyayakko, just for a change. It could be worse, though; at least Suzu's never made them eat natto with her. Perhaps tonight she'll cook something with the beancurd rolls. Something mild and simple -- a namayuba nabe, perhaps, simmered with dashi and soy milk. Maybe while she's here, she'll even buy a little extra fried tofu skins to make inarizushi for the fox at the shrine, too.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Yosuke watches as Suzu makes her purchases and chats up Rise's grandmother. They know each other well enough; Suzu's been shopping here since she'd arrived at Inaba. "Geeze, partner," Yosuke says, moving to help her with one of her bags and inspecting the topmost product -- a container of natto. "You have the taste buds of an old man."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"I like it," Suzu says, a little defensive. She pats her hand over the container as if to shield and console it. "I don't like-- strong flavours. Meat."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Adachi is coming up the road, heading their way. Something about his stride looks brisk and purposeful -- until he trips a little over the kerb. He's in earshot when she says the last part and their eyes meet just as he lurches a little, losing the rhythm of his steps. He looks like he wants to say something.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu speaks first. "Hi, Adachi-san."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Heya," he says, the greeting far too informal to be one between police officer and citizen. "You guys sure hang out here and around the Junes often."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"There's not much else around for us to hang out at," Yosuke points out. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Adachi laughs. "True. So, tofu, huh? Any good?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"I like it," Suzu says again.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. You don't like-- what was it? Strong flavours, meat?" He laughs; it's evidently meant to be playful but instead, it just sounds jarring. Suzu doesn't like the look in his eyes. "What're you, a Buddhist nun?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu laughs along with him, an instinctual response -- and Yosuke follows, uncertain. "See you, Adachi-san. I recommend the silken tofu. It's good for your skin."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>They part ways and leave him staring after them. Yosuke's walking faster now, Suzu's bag of tofu products swinging in his hand. Suzu falls into step beside him, tucking her wallet into her bag. She can feel Adachi's eyes on her, all the way to the end of the shopping district. "Yosuke," she says and he slows down, just a little. "What were you talking about?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Huh?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Earlier. Inside the shop. Before Adachi."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"What? Oh-- uh. God, never mind. I'm sorry."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"About <em>what</em>," Suzu says. The heat makes her snappish and irritable; she wants to go home to put her tofu away and then sit in front of the fan, but she can't -- not until Yosuke spits out whatever he's trying to say. Otherwise it'll just be hanging in the air, a thick and clammy weight like thunderclouds in the horizon.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Yosuke squirms, arms swinging faster now. Suzu wants to slap his hand to make him keep still. She'll be upset if she goes home to find her tofu shaken to pieces. "Nevermind, it was insensitive of me. Uh. Listen ... I know it's hard. If you need anyone to talk to, you can-- um, you can talk to me. About your boyfriend, I mean," Yosuke says, the word sounding awkward and unwieldly in his mouth. "I-it's okay if you don't want to talk about him, I mean, it still hurts thinking about Saki-senpai too, I get it."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Oh. So that's what he means. "He's not dead,"  she says, but even that sounds uncertain. Less like a statement of fact, and more like a question. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"But you said--"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu takes her bag of purchases from him. "But I wish he were."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Even Hisano and Eri seem to get in on the action. Suzu is more impressed than anything that both the harried, sort-of single mother and the old lady at the floodplain already know about her love affairs, or lack thereof. Inaba's gossip network sure is an object of marvel.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>... well, perhaps it shouldn't be that surprising on Eri's side. During her first shift at the daycare centre, Yuuta had looked Suzu dead in the eye and asked, with all the straightforward tactlessness of a child, if she had a boyfriend. Boys of any age, it seems, are all remarkably similar.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Hisano, Eri, and Suzu make for a strange trio -- three women from three generations, sitting under the shade of a tree. Suzu's learnt about the term for them in history class, or maybe English -- the crone, the mother, and the maiden, the three faces of the goddess or something weird and literary like that. Not that Suzu thinks there's anything particularly maidenly about herself -- even more so when she's almost suffocating in the heat, her hair lying limp and lank and close to her scalp. The three of them sit at the banks of the Samegawa early one evening; Eri brings a thermos of iced tea and an assortment of snacks, apologising that they're meant for children -- she didn't have anything else on hand, and isn't due for a grocery trip for a while. Suzu sips at her cup and rolls the ice cubes in her mouth, trying to resist the urge to crunch down on them.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"So, about this boy," Eri prompts. "You really should have said something sooner if you were feeling troubled, Suzu-san. I feel so bad now, burdening you with my own business."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"No, it's fine," Suzu mumbles and tries to avoid her eyes. "I preferred it." Preferred it -- to what? The novelty of having others take curiosity in her own business, she supposes; this is the first time she's had others scrutinise her personal life so much and made her think about it. Perhaps this is what the others feel like, all the other people who unload their life's stories and woes upon her while she listens. But she likes that. Listening is better than this, better than saying anything and feeling tongue-tied and wrong-footed, like she isn't even sure of what she's saying herself. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu stares down at her cup of chilled tea. It feels nice in her hands. She wants to press it against the side of her neck. "It's just, I think I hate him" she says. "I wanted him to die."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>For a long time, nobody says anything.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"I understand being hurt and wanting to forget, or just wishing he's gone and no longer part of your world," Hisano says, gazing out misty-eyed into the Samegawa. A low heat haze hangs shimmering and silvery over the water; she looks composed and at ease in her black widow's weeds next to Suzu sweating in her summer uniform. "But you may come to regret thinking that way, Suzu-chan. I hope you'll listen for a bit and take in a little knowledge from a bitter old bag like me, something that took a very long time for me to learn."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>She pats Suzu's knee. Her skin is cool and dry to the touch despite the heat of the day, so thin and papery that Suzu is afraid Hisano's hand will stick to her clammy knee and rip off at the palm. "It's a dangerous way of thinking, wishing someone would die just because they chose to leave you behind. Although the good times have to come an end, sometimes people need to move on, but there's nothing wrong with that. Loving, being loved ... all that is what it goes to making us human. That happiness and passion you felt in your heart when you were together, the emotions he made you feel ... they're all an important part of you, even if they hurt now."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Mm," Suzu murmurs, swatting midges away from her face. She unfolds her legs from underneath her, regretting her earlier choice to sit in that position. Her thighs and calves part reluctantly from one another, the skin hot and flushed.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Hisano dabs at her temple with a neatly-folded handkerchief, the sole concession she makes to acknowledging the heat. "If reincarnation exists, if I got the chance to meet my husband again, I'd want to apologise to him. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive your boy too," she says; her smile is so calm and gentle that, inexplicably, it makes Suzu feels bad.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"I don't want to," Suzu blurts out before she can stop herself. "Forgive him, I mean." She squeezes the plastic cup in her hands when Hisano and Eri look at her, their gazes heavy with sympathy. "I don't-- I can't. Not when things are like this." A listless gesture with her arm. "Not when there's so much left that I want to say first."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Eri gazes down at her empty cup, but makes no move to refill it. She swishes it and the ice cubes inside rattle against the plastic. "It's hard, isn't it?" she sighs. The back of Suzu's neck prickles at her words. "I know how you feel, I was your age too." She and Hisano share a laugh. "When you're young, anyone you're with feels like your soulmate or your fated love, as if destiny has determined you should be together, and so it hurts even more when you fall out of love with each other. Like it's wrong, like you're going against fate itself."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Yeah," Suzu says again. Then, half-uncertain of what she's saying herself, "it's like ... we were each other's world."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Again, Hisano and Eri trade understanding looks; they're almost indulgent. "If it helps," Eri says, her voice halting, "if it makes things easier, you can think of it as fate determining you weren't meant to be. It's not your fault, and it may not be his, either."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu stares down at her cup, streaked with condensation. The melted dregs of her ice are small, fine shards in the pale green sea of her diluted tea.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"I used to think it was hard, too," Eri says. Her smile is gentle in the twilight. "Moving from the city, having to accept a child I wasn't expecting ... it felt like too much. But understanding others, making your own happiness -- it won't come to you unless you're ready to move on and accept the new way things are, even if it's difficult."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"And when will that be?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>The two women exchange some unspoken thought over Suzu's head. "You'll know when it's time."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>She shouldn't be surprised that things with Mitsuo turn out the way they do -- she's seen the way he looks at her when he thinks she doesn't notice, the way he sidles closer when she looks away. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu takes his company and presence for the same reasons that she bears others -- to listen to what they say. So she listens. She listens to him rant and rave about others and extolling his own personal virtues in the same breath. How he's better than them, than everyone else in this sleepy little town and everybody's too narrow-minded and short-sighted to see it. Suzu doesn't say anything but that's enough for him -- just having a listening ear, or a warm body beside him, that's all he wants. And that, that much, she can give him.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"You should stop hanging out with those Yasogami losers," he says to her. "I'm better than them. I'm all that you need."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"They're my friends."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"You don't need friends like those. Going around thinking they're hot shit. Like they're actually doing anything."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu doesn't bother to correct him. "Do you think I'm a loser too?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"No." Mitsuo hesitates. "You're different."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>They pass by the shrine on their stroll through the shopping district. He glares at the fox as they pass and feints a lunge at it -- and Suzu reaches out to him then, grasping his wrist. "Don't," she says. In the shade of the cypresses, the fox doesn't flinch.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>He stares down at her hand like she's just thrown a fistful of maggots at him. "This isn't how it's meant to be," he says at first. "This isn't how you're meant to hold my hand." Then, "I thought you were different."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"It's been a long day. Let's just go home."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>That makes the anger flash in his eyes. "You're doing it too! The same thing everyone else does. Ignoring me, brushing me off, dismissing what I say, pretending I don't exist, like I'm something-- something <em>lesser</em>, something worthless. I wanted to believe you were different. But that's not true. You're just like them, just like all those other stupid girls. I heard the rumours, you know. About your <em>boyfriend</em>." He spits out the word like it's something obscene. "How you're really just here to look for him."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Again, with that damn rumour. Suzu's fingers tighten, and Mitsuo yelps when her nails dig into his arm. "That's not true," she says, but she doesn't know if she believes herself.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Mitsuo grabs her hand and wrenches it off him. He squeezes her wrist, hard enough for Suzu to feel the pressure of bone against bone. "I can't believe you. I trusted you, confided in you, told you everything. I thought what we had was something special. I thought you understood -- but you're just like everyone else. Looking at me like you're better than me. I'll kill you. I'll kill you! Just you wait. I'll kill you, just like all the other useless people here. And then I'll kill myself. And then that's it, and then you won't have to waste your time with anyone else and we'll be together. No interruptions, no distractions -- just us."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>No. Suzu opens her eyes and twists her hand free of his grasp. This, this isn't what she wants. "You," she says, and for the first time, Mitsuo falters and shrinks back. Thunder cracks in the distance, a sound like a tree splitting in a storm. Suzu hates this -- hates the humid summer days and the late-season rains, the clamminess of Mitsuo's fingers clenched around her wrist and the commanding edge to his voice. "You have no right."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>She leaves him there in the middle of the shopping district. The heat haze rises shimmering from the road; in the blazing eye of the afternoon sun, everything looks like a fever dream. She doesn't look back.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>That night, she sees him on the Midnight Channel.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>How she wishes it doesn't have to be this way. How she wishes it doesn't end like this, in a dreary, drafty castle and with Mitsuo screaming obscenities at his shadow -- a shadow that stands still and silent unlike all the others before it. </p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Suzu's always thought that shadows aren't that bad. It's awfully convenient to be able to hear someone's true thoughts and desires and feelings, unfettered and unfiltered from their inhibitions and laid bare in all their ugly beauty. So, she says "thank you for everything you told me" and Mitsuo lifts his head and howls like a deranged wolf.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Perhaps the Mitsuo she'd gotten to know was the real shadow all along. </p>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. fall.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>The turn in the seasons comes accompanied by the welcome onset of cooler weather. The muggy heat of summer retreats slowly and with it, Suzu can feel her wits returning. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She's settled into a tolerable rhythm of life now. Attending drama and soccer practise; hanging out with the assortment of friends she's accumulated over the past several months; working at the daycare and hospital and gas station convenience store. Suzu meets all kinds of people and learns about all the kinds of issues that keep them up at night -- and it's nice, because it takes her mind off what keeps <em>her</em> up at night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>At the daycare, Suzu listens as Yuuta confides confused sympathy for his stepmother and swears her to secrecy; Akio worries about not being accepted by the other children because he doesn't have the latest and coolest toys; Miyako talks about how her parents haven't spoken to each other for weeks. At the hospital, Ozawa tells her about his regrets and how he wants to see his family and make amends at the very end; Takakura mourns the loss of yet another fragile life blooming in her after another miscarriage; the young medical resident Takemi confides in her dream to open her own clinic one day, and treat anyone who comes through her doors. At the gas station, Suzu learns of Nakano's long and meandering road trip through Japan to find herself; medical student Hiraga who's using his mid-term break to travel the countryside to photograph landscapes and scenery for a photography competition, because he's looking for a way to balance duty and passion; a touring music band whose blue-haired frontman tells her to look him up when she's next in Sumaru City, he'll give her a killer sushi kaiseki to remember in return for her interest in listening to his story.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's just so nice and easy hearing to people talk about themselves -- because, as she prompts them to tell her more, more, it becomes easier to avoid talking about herself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The dreams come more frequently now, more than ever before. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The smell of rain and lightning, the heaviness of fog settling in her lungs. Suzu's running a lot in her dreams -- though whether it's <em>away</em> or <em>towards</em> something, she has no idea. Sometimes she's running through the endless expanse of a dark tunnel yawning out behind her, never getting further away no matter how fast or how far she runs. Other times when she looks ahead, Suzu thinks she can see a figure in the fog and the darkness. Sometimes it's holding her hand, dragging her on as they run through the choking mists; other times, it's like they're running away from <em>her.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her legs never seem to want to cooperate. She runs quickly at first, so fast that the air burns in her throat and her joints feel warm and it feels like any motion will set her aflame, the dry tinder of her legs going up in flames, the skin and muscle tearing as she pushes herself to take bigger strides, faster steps. The entire lower half of her body burns from the exertion and she can feel the ache and tension in her hips, in her belly and between her legs. Suzu trips and falls and finds she can't get back up -- and the figure with her falters, then approaches. It's a man -- or a boy, she can't see clearly enough to make out his face -- and he holds out his hand towards her. He's holding something in his other hand, a comb whose teeth blaze with a faltering fire. Suzu shrinks away from it as it nears her -- but he tosses the comb down and stamps out the flames, then reaches out to her. His hands reach out to cradle her face and press against the back of her head, roaming over her shoulders and chest and waist.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Go away," she says and tries to push his hands off. "Don't touch me. You have no right."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He doesn't say anything, but strokes the side of her face. Suzu can feel his thumb sliding through the flesh of her cheek, caressing the tops of her back teeth. "I know," he says. And then, "I won't make the same mistake again."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Anger swells at the back of Suzu's throat. She lashes out at him, feeling the satisfaction of her hand striking the side of his face. "Liar," she says, and digs her nails in. Carves red stripes across that perfect, unbroken skin. "Get lost. I don't need you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The man, the boy -- <em>boyfriend, lover, husband</em>, her mind whispers -- remains where he is. He seizes her wrist but presses her hand in harder, clutching it to his face. The thin scratches on his skin bleed freely, smearing on Suzu's fingertips. "Wait for me," he says and leans in close. He brushes grave-beetles and maggots out of her hair. "I'm coming for you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Liar," Suzu murmurs again, this time into his mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The thunder booms and roars outside and Suzu jerks awake in bed. Her lips feel cool, tingling from a phantom touch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p>There's a new hire at the gas station during her next shift. A boy with silvery hair, the bright colours of the Moel uniform jacket clashing against his features.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>(The white and the hideous red and orange washes him out. They're not his colours. He'd look good in black.)</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Her boss just shrugs, mutters something about the new boy starting recently to cover Suzu's last few shifts. Suzu feels the boy watching her as she goes about her business -- ringing customers up, stocking the shelves, cleaning windows. After the first week, he comes up to Suzu when she rolls her scooter in to fill it up. "Nice seeing you today, Seta-san," he says. His voice is smooth and calm, accentless and inflectionless; it's the first time he's said anything to her.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Yes." Suzu counts out her money, trying to ignore the way Chie and Yukiko exchange curious glances. <em>He's my coworker! </em>she wants to scream. He's always been courteous enough, but she doesn't want to speak to him -- not any more than necessary.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"Nice weather," he continues. "Don't you think?"</p>
    <p>Instinctively, Suzu lifts her head to the sky. The clouds are hanging low in the horizon; it's chilly for the time of the year. It'll be a cold winter.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Out of the corner of her eye, Suzu can see Yosuke elbowing Kanji, who just looks uncomfortable, then gradually more annoyed as the elbowing intensifies. Suzu says nothing, just nods in agreement. The attendant finishes filling up Suzu's scooter, then goes to sort out the payment. Their hands brush when he hands her her change and Suzu flinches from the static that skips between their skin in the dry autumnal air.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>His gaze holds her in place; Suzu feels the hairs at the back of her neck prickling. Where has she--?</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Fire and darkness, the coolness of earth over her face. <em>Click. </em>A man in a sober charcoal suit standing in front of a simulated storm. <em>Click. </em>An empty train carriage with windows wide open, a passenger alighting into the fog. <em>Click. </em>Glistening fruit dribbling with juices dark as blood. <em>Click. </em>The teeth of a burning comb, inches from her face--</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"How long are you going to continue like this?" he asks. Suzu's head pulses with agony as she stares him dead in the face as she tries not to notice the way Rise's eyes are about to pop right out of her head. "How long are you going to play at this game of pretending you don't recognise me, pretending you don't know who I am?"</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>There's nothing romantic about their meeting -- no thrill of recognition, no spark of rekindling passion -- but Suzu <em>knows</em> him deep in her bones and in the tangled knot of anger that rises in her throat. "You," she says and her fingers clench in empty air, squeezing around the coins and notes in her hand. </p>
  </div>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu has a dream of the boy from the gas station. He leans over her and caresses her hair back from her brow, tenderly lifts masks one by one off her face -- personas with names like Oyama-tsumi and Kayano-hime, Fujin and Ameno-fukio, layer by layer until they are released into the fog and the night. Suzu trembles at his touch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And then she dreams of flames and being on fire. This time, instead of the char of burning flesh and blistering skin, Suzu can smell the overwhelming stench of gasoline.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The heat between her legs pools and spreads, up her belly and down her thighs, an infernal heat that rips the voice from her throat. Above her, the boy peels off another mask, coming down to her skin and bones and still he pulls it away and Suzu throws up her hands to cover her face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Don't look," she says. "Don't look at me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>His hand meets bare skin -- and still, he pauses. Stripped of her masks, Suzu feels naked and vulnerable and exposed, laid out before him even before he undoes the clasp of her skirt and slides up the hem of her shirt. For a second he pauses, and she sneers. "Like what you see?" she hisses and grabs his hand, pressing it between her breasts, dragging it down her abdomen. "What's the matter, this isn't what you wanted, is it?"</p>
  <p>Stillness around her, for what feels like an eternity.</p>
  <p>"Beloved," he says. "Beautiful."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Then she hears the rustle of mass-produced polyester fabric, the movement of a body over her. She peers through her fingers and watches as the boy from the gas station takes off his hideous jacket and lays it down over her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu reaches out for him, and he bends into her embrace -- and he doesn't pull away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Why are you here?" she asks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The boy at the gas station laughs, open-mouthed. "I know I haven't been working here long, but there's no need to be so cold, Seta-san." His brow furrows. "Or should it be Seta-senpai …?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Don't call me that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You've been here for much longer than I have."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"That doesn't answer my question."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No," he says, sober now. "It does not. But it's my fault things are like this. I shouldn't have put them off for this long. Truth be told ... I was a little afraid. Facing you again, after all this time ... I wasn't sure if you'd even give me a chance to say anything."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Why did you come here?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He doesn't answer her immediately, seemingly intent on restocking a collection of drinking-snacks -- dried scallop skirts and spicy shredded squid floss, roasted edamame and seasoned senbei. "Have you ever heard of liminal spaces?" he asks instead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Places like train stops and empty classrooms during term breaks. Lonely shrines tucked in the middle of nowhere and hospitals at night. Department stores after hours and gas stations," he adds and Suzu shivers. "Thoroughways from one space to the next ... or between the worlds themselves. You know what I mean. You seek them out, too. Places with no relationships to anywhere else, places where hundreds can cross through in a day, but never stay at for long. You understand, right? It's the only place for people like you and me. I waited for you at some of these places, but you never saw me. Not until now."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Who are you?" Suzu asks. The gas station store's fluorescent lighting is a harsh and stark white; it highlights his hair and his cheekbones. His eyes are the grey of the stormclouds beyond the window.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Just someone who got tired of watching from far away. I can understand, now, why you chose this path."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu resists the urge to hit him over the head with her barcode scanner. "I meant, your name."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, that." He runs his fingers over the front of his uniform jacket, where a nametag should have been. "So you really don't remember?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Over and over, the same old routine. Suzu's been through it several times now. It still discomfits her -- is it wrong, to empathise with the shadow first, rather than with its other?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Why? Why're you leaving me here? Why am I always left alone?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Naoto's shadow's voice is a plaintive cry and in it, Suzu can hear herself. She curls her fingers into her fist -- but the others don't notice, too busy trying to tide out the spectacle before them, before the shadow goes berserk.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"People only seek you out as long as they need you. But once you're done, they don't need anything else to do with you. That's why you did it, that's why you did everything you do. You haven't the means to deal with society's two-faced nature."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"That's enough," Suzu snarls and slowly, the shadow's eyes turn to her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"That's right," Naoto murmurs, but she's not looking at her shadow, not looking at Suzu. "I can find my own reason for living."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And I'm telling you ..." The shadow's voice drops to a deeper, harsher register. "That's impossible."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Something's troubling you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The boy from the gas station threads wriggling beetles onto his line; the insects' wing-cases are an iridescent blue-green in the light as he pushes the hook through the glittering carapaces.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Don't do that," Suzu says. "Not while they're still alive. It's cruel."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Haha." The boy inspects his handiwork, then casts his line. "Ironic, coming from you. Life begets death, and death begets life. You should know that. After all, you were the cruelest one of us all."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The lure lands in the water with a soft splash. "So," he prompts, and settles down to wait. "Tell me what's on your mind."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu gathers up the skirts of her dress, the one with the billowing sleeves and full skirt, clasped with the crimson belt. The fabric feels tissue paper-thin in her fingers. "It's none of your business. Why do you care?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm curious ... in the same way that you were. I'm sure you understand."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She kicks off her shoes. The stones of the riverbank are warm from the heat of the day, their edges worn smooth by the ebb and flow of the Samegawa. Skirts grasped in her hands, Suzu steps into the river shallows; the water laps against her legs, clear enough for her to see to the bottom. Against the crisp autumn air, the river is almost warm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Don't do that," the boy says, but makes no move to stop her. "You'll scare away the fish."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu can see their shadows, lingering under the surface of the water. They dart past her ankles and between her calves; she can feel the brush of their fins. Just to be contrary, she wades out further -- until the water's lapping at her knees, the current eddying steadily around her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They regard one another from across the water, Suzu and the boy from the gas station. "It's you," Suzu says, and he cants his head to the side.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hm?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You. You're the one that's troubling me. I don't know who you are. I don't know how to place you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Ah." He doesn't quite laugh, though it's close. "Who do you think I am, then?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"An annoying guy." Suzu answers without hesitation. "It's because of you that people are running wild with rumours about you being my boyfriend, or whatever."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>This time, he really does laugh. "My bad. Is it really that unflattering a concept?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The edge of Suzu's skirt droops into the water. She hitches it back up before it can go further. It'd been a stupid idea to wear this dress; she has no idea why she did it. It's not even right for the weather, the thin, fine fabric more suited to spring or summer. "I don't need baseless rumours in my life."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Rumours, huh." Another jerk of his line -- and this time, he prepares to reel it in. "Before this, before I could bring myself to face you, I went to many places. I saw a city where rumours could become reality."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu grimaces. "That sounds horrible."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Would it really be so bad?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Huh?" Suzu watches as he unhooks the fish he's landed. Something large and whiskered, barbels around its mouth trembling as it struggles in his grasp. How sad it is, watching the fish thrash and panic, mouth wide and gasping. Poor thing, it doesn't even have a voice with which it can scream.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Another chance. Would it really be so bad?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p>"You should stay away from him. He's no good. Gives me the creeps."</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>Ah, finally, a voice of reason. Perhaps Suzu was wrong, and her realest and truest friend is Marie, after all.</p>
  </div>
  <div>
    <p>"What's his problem stupid smug no-good obnoxious shady jerkface who the hell does he think he is he's too smooth I hate him," Marie grits out in a single breath, and, for once, Suzu is inclined to agree.</p>
  </div>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu spots the form wedged under piles of newspapers and case file reports -- <em>Parent Survey Regarding Scheduling of Parent-Teacher Interviews. </em>So that's where it'd went.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She makes note of the date, and clears her schedule for the day when it comes -- turning down Rise's invitation to go to Okina, Kanji's offer to have her sit in for sewing club, and Yukiko's next foray into learning how to cook. After school, she hurtles to her cousin's school, and waits in the corridor with the other parents. Around her, Suzu can see familiar faces -- many of them are parents of the children she's met at her daycare job; she waves at the ones she recognises, the ones that have tagged along for their older siblings' parent-teacher interviews and they smile shyly back. Nanako's face lights up when she sees Suzu, and she rushes into Suzu's arms; around her, the cluster of little upturned faces observe Suzu with some interest, like sunflowers bending to the sun.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Suzu?" Her uncle's voice lifts in surprise. "What're you doing here?" Then, once Nanako is excitedly regaling her classmates on Suzu's various virtues, he flashes a wry grin. "Heh, I see how it is. Nanako had about the same reaction to me when I showed up. Do you two really have that little faith in me ...?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I plead Article 38," Suzu says. Her uncle's brow furrows, caught between disapproval and amusement.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>While they wait, Suzu gets up and fetches coffee for them. Black for Dojima, with cream for herself. Her uncle takes the little paper cup from her; a strange expression passes over his face when he sees Suzu's cup, but he makes no comment. They sit next to each other while waiting for the other interviews to conclude, cramped on tiny child-sized seats with their knees almost up to their chins. Suzu's uncle nibbles at the rim of his now-empty cup.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Would you like another--?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I know I've been doing a poor job being around for Nanako and you, but ... there's no way I'd have missed this," Dojima says suddenly, not quite looking at her. "There's no way I could live with myself if I let her wait all alone again, for someone who'd never come. Not after-- not after her mother-- not after Chisato died." Up ahead, the teacher calls for the next child and their parents. Dojima leans his forehead into his interlaced hands. He looks about a thousand years old. "You and Nanako could probably see it all along ... using excuses, dodging the issue, scared of moving on, scared of connecting with you two, of making a home again when Chisato's gone. I wanted to get that back more than anything ... even without knowing it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And are you done?" Suzu asks, still nursing her coffee. It's a cheap, instant blend, nothing like the filter coffee that Dojima makes at home. "Running away?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah," Dojima says as up ahead, the teacher calls out Nanako's name from the roll. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The boy from the gas station transfers into her school at the end of the month.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He stands in front of the class; the dark monochrome shades of the Yasogami uniform look far better on him than the sallow reds and yellows of the Moel gas station colours. The crisp dark lines of his gakuran dislodges a memory at the back of Suzu's mind; it sinks away before she can pursue it further.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well, why don't you introduce yourself?" Ms. Kashiwagi says and he nods.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm … Narukami," he says, and Suzu wants to laugh and laugh and laugh. It sounds like a warning, a premonition, a promise; an ultimatum, echoing in the hush created by the rain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Everything around her is crumbling. Everything that Suzu thought she knows and understands has been turned on its head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Narukami is everywhere in her life, working shifts alongside her at the gas station and hospital, tending to the shrine. Her uncle turns away from her explanations, and takes matters into his own hands. Namatame's expression becomes closed and desperate and unreadable, and he takes Nanako away. Adachi just shakes his head when Suzu rattles the handle and bangs against the door of the interrogation room, and leaves her in the darkness and silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>No. No, this isn't meant to happen. Not like this. This is wrong. This is all wrong.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The empty house stretches out around her like a cage, no longer a home with its beating heart hollowed out. The night her cousin goes missing and her uncle is admitted to hospital, Suzu sits in the dark and listens to the rain falling outside, feeling the silence beating against her ears. No matter how hard she strains, she can't hear the rustle of her Dojima's newspapers and the trill of Nanako's laughter after she sings the Junes theme song.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It hurts when she forces herself out of bed, going through the rhythms and motions of daily life. It hurts to feel the scrutiny of other people upon her as they whisper behind her back as she passes, news of her family's misfortune spreading further and faster than she can control. It hurts when she recognises the look of unease in the eyes of her friends as they follow her lead through the ethereal pathways of a false heaven. It hurts to hear Nananko's voice raised in a helpless cry, begging for Suzu to save her. It hurts when she plunges her glittering spear into the innards of the thing that calls itself Kunino-sagiri, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing until it lies still and silent, pinned beneath and between her knees.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She heads out to the Samegawa floodplain in the dead of the night. Under the cover of darkness and the pouring rain, she spears squirming worms and skittering insects on her hook and casts her line out into the rain. Suzu fishes until the watery predawn sunlight filters in through clouds still swollen with rain, and catches nothing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Wet and sodden and defeated, she bends double over the water, staring at her reflection - wild-haired and red-eyed, her clothes plastered to her body. The boy, Narukami, finds her like that, crouched on the muddy bank with her fishing gear piled beside her. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You're avoiding her," he says, drawing up behind her. Suzu didn't hear him approach -- but that doesn't mean anything when her ears are still ringing from the roar of thunder and rain. "You're avoiding the issue. Just like I was."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>His hand closes over her shoulder and Suzu tries to shake him off, but his grip is firm and crushingly strong. "Shut up," she snarls through her teeth. "You don't know anything. Get away from me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"How long are you going to turn away?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Trapped in his grasp, Suzu cries out when his fingers dig into her shoulder. When she whirls to face him, his face is unpleasantly, unsettlingly calm. His grey eyes survey her from beneath the flat, straight fall of his fringe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You're afraid, aren't you? Afraid that your power is gone, afraid that you're unable to do just this one thing and grant this one selfish wish for yourself?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The anger surges and swells in her like a great wave, and this time Suzu manages to wrench herself free. As she staggers, off-balance on the slippery mud and rain-slick river stones, Narukami reaches out to catch her and grabs hold of her hand, then pivots her into the crook of his arm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu's skin burns at the points of their contact -- from his arm, supporting her back; from his hand, one pressed against her waist and fingers brushing against her hipbone, the other holding tightly onto hers. From a distance, they could almost look like a perverse parody of lovers, dancing on the rain-swollen banks of the river.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She wants to laugh. She wants to cry. She wants to slap him, to push him away, to reach out and drag her fingers down his perfect, handsome face and tear out his perfect, handsome eyes. And yet, she stays still and frozen as Narukami lifts her gently, close enough for her to feel his breath against her cheek.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I understand how you feel." His lips are warm, brushing against the rim of her ear. "I was in your place, once, too."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu makes her way back from the floodplain; she's slunk in through the gates of Yasogami High before she realizes what she's doing. It's still early in the day, and not many people have made their way to school yet; the few early students point and whisper behind their hands as Suzu wanders into their midst. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her reflection in the notice board makes for a grim sight -- with her hair wet and plastered to her scalp and falling over her chest and shoulders in limp tangles and her uniform still damp and wrinkled from being rained on and slept in, she bears remarkable resemblance to a particularly miserable river wraith. As she's contemplating what to do, Naoki emerges from the infirmary and almost walks into her. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Suzu-san," he says, completely at a loss.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Come with me," Suzu says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>If anyone says anything as they leave, Suzu doesn't hear. Why should they care, why should they judge? She's Suzu Seta, who runs errands for strangers who've never spoken to her otherwise. Suzu Seta, who lends a listening ear and shoulder to lean on to anyone with grievances to air. Suzu Seta, who works no fewer than eight part-time jobs at any given time, helping anyone and everyone who asks -- or doesn't. Suzu Seta, a face known to just about everyone in Inaba at this point. If they want to talk, let them talk, she thinks with a furious, giddy surge of energy -- but she knows nobody will. Just like how everyone treaded carefully around Naoki Konishi, bereaved younger brother of the sadly, dearly departed Saki Konishi, so everyone will handle Suzu Seta, with her missing cousin and hospitalised uncle, like a fragile vase, liable to fall apart at any moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Somewhere along the way, she realizes she's dragged Naoki to the central shopping district -- and only once she's there does she have enough presence of mind to let go of his arm. At one of the shops, she buys a small bouquet of flowers with the bedraggled notes she finds in in her pocket -- a modest arrangement of white chrysanthemums and baby's breath. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Together, she and Naoki leave the shopping district. Naoki lingers uncertainly in her wake and, after some thought, takes off his gakuran and puts it over her shoulders.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You're all drenched,," he says, a little defensive. "You'll catch a cold."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They walk side-by-side in silence -- until they reach the place where Saki's body had been hung, just another telephone pole in another neighbourhood street. At the base, Suzu leaves her little bouquet, propping it against the pole alongside the dried and wilted remains of other similar arrangements.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh," Naoki says, his voice odd. "That's … um. Thank you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suzu draws his gakuran closer around her shoulders. "Sorry for making you come here. I just always thought that … well, it must be a bit lonely."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I tried not to come this way too often, but I saw them sometimes. Those flowers … were you--?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Despite herself, Suzu laughs. "Perhaps I had no right in telling you to try and stop running, when I'm just the same."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Behind her, Naoki has fallen still. "Hmm?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Am I pitiable? For running away? For not visiting them? For knowing all the right things to say to other people, but not even following my own advice?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A chuckle. "I don't know the answer to that." Behind her, Suzu can hear the rustling of a paper bag -- and then Naoki holds out a cream puff in a waxed paper wrapper. "C'mon," he says when she just stares at him. "You look … um, terrible. When was the last time you ate anything?"</p>
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  <p>"I'm f--"</p>
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  <p>"No. You're not." Naoki stares down at her. "I know I said I wouldn't know how to treat someone if something happened to their close relative, but … I can't … turn away either." He trails off. "C'mon. Sis, she … she always loved these. They're pretty good, especially when you get them fresh."</p>
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  <p>Reluctantly, Suzu takes the proffered cream puff. It's light in her hands, with a crumbly cracked golden biscuit crust. "I've … been in Inaba for a while now, but I still haven't tried these. They were always sold out whenever I went to try and buy some."</p>
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  <p>Naoki squats down beside Suzu. Hunkered down together in a nondescript neighbourhood street when school is clearly in session, they make for a delinquent pair. Suzu snorts under her breath -- and that makes Naoki smile, too. "I … I haven't bought any since … that time. When I first told you about them. Only Sis and I really liked them -- nobody else in the family was really into them, and I couldn't bring myself to eat them, either."</p>
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  <p>"Is that so?" Suzu nibbles at the edge of her cream puff. The pastry is nice -- soft and fluffy and smelling of butter. "Well, I'm proud of you."</p>
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  <p>"Yes. It finally felt like … like I was able to take another step forward." Naoki contemplates his own cream puff, then takes a bite out of it. "And … I think you should, too. Go and see your cousin and uncle. Even if staying away means that you won't see how they're doing, even if you think that no news must be good news."</p>
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  <p>"Hmm." Suzu bites into her cream puff. The filling is only mildly sweet, smooth and creamy. It tastes of late-season citrons. "I'm proud of you -- I think. It's not every day that a kouhai can advise their senpai. You've really grown up, Naoki."</p>
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  <p>Naoki turns faintly pink at the ears. "It's-- it's not like that, Suzu-san. You're the one that taught me these things, and I'm just trying to … hm, I don't know, return the favour."</p>
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  <p>"Not every interaction in life is a favour that needs to be returned, you know." Suzu reaches out, then pats him on the shoulder. "But … thank you."</p>
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  <p>He doesn't reply immediately, folding up his empty cream puff wrapper into neat squares. "That 'admirable life' I was wondering about, before … I think that maybe, perhaps, I'm getting a little bit closer to it. Being there for people, being more honest with myself and others, doing what I think is right … I think I'm getting there, one step at a time."</p>
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  <p>"Is that so?" Suzu stands and brushes the crumbs from her fingertips. "I'm glad."</p>
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  <p>.</p>
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  <p>Suzu has been to Inaba Municipal Hospital many times before -- but always as a worker, passing briefly through its doors. Never as a visitor, never with ties to someone housed inside.</p>
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  <p>The others accompany her at first, until Suzu starts visiting at odd hours, just to shake them away, making it a point to visit when she knows Sayoko doesn't have any shifts. She doesn't think she can handle it -- their company, their sympathy, their anger, their sadness; not when her own feelings loom over her, threatening to crush her under their weight. There, in the empty paediatric ward, she clasps Nanako's small, limp hand and prays -- to every god she can think of, and to nobody in particular. </p>
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  <p>Sometimes, Narukami watches her from across the room, silent as he wipes down surfaces and equipment. One night, he approaches soft-footed on rubber-soled feet and joins her in gazing down at Nanako's drawn and pale little face.</p>
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  <p>"Why are you here?" Suzu asks without opening her eyes. </p>
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  <p>"Because you called for me." A pause; hesitation. "Because I'm trying to do the right thing by you this time."</p>
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  <p>Suzu doesn't straighten from where she's laid her head on Nanako's bed. She's too tired to deal with his strange riddles and cryptic doublespeak. "Leave."</p>
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  <p>"Do you really think the gods have dominion over the lives of men?" he asks.</p>
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  <p>Narukami's clothes rustle with his approach. Suzu opens one eye to watch him as his shadow falls over Nanako's blankets. "People have more power than they think," Narukami says. "All it takes is a little push." He reaches out, as though to brush Nanako's hair back from her forehead, then seems to decide against it. His hand hovers inches away from Nanako. Suzu straightens slowly in her seat.</p>
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  <p>"Don't touch her."</p>
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  <p>"What are you waiting for?" Narukami's voice is quiet amidst the hum of hospital machinery and beeping of monitors. He moves and his hand settles, instead, on Suzu's head. She stiffens at his touch, fingers closing a little more tightly around Nanako's hand. "All you need … is a little belief."</p>
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  <p>In her grasp, small fingers squeezing back -- gently at first, light and tremulous as the touch of a bird's wing, then stronger, firmer. On the bed, Nananko stirs, eyelids slowly fluttering open. "Big … Sis …?"</p>
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  <p>Suzu turns to look at Narukami, but he's already moved away, returning to cleaning the windows. "Narukami," she says; his name feels strange and strained in her voice. "What did you do?"</p>
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  <p>"Just a little favour. An exertion of my dominion and authority over yours," he says, gathering up his cleaning supplies. "... just something I felt I owed you."</p>
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  <p>.</p>
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  <p>She doesn't call the others immediately. </p>
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  <p>Instead, Suzu makes her way to Namatame's room. The police guard studies Suzu warily as she approaches and makes to stop her, but falls back when she shows him her uncle's credentials, hastily pressed into her hands before he'd almost sprinted to Nanako's ward. </p>
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  <p>Through the door, the room is dark, curtains drawn, lights dimmed. Namatame is awake, and watches Suzu as she approaches.</p>
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  <p>"Are you here to interrogate me, too?" he asks.</p>
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  <p>"No." Suzu pulls up a chair, and sets herself down next to his bed. She holds out the glass of water she'd brought up with her. "It's not like one of Old Lady Shiroku's fancy cocktails or tonics, but, um, here."</p>
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  <p>Namatame regards her and the glass silently, but doesn't move to take it. Suzu sighs. "It's not poisoned, if that's what you're worried about. I'm just here to talk. You can think of it as something like all those times at the Shiroku Pub or gas station."</p>
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  <p>"Is that so …" Finally relenting, Namatame takes the glass from her and takes a tentative sip. "I wouldn't blame you if you decided to poison me, though. I deserve it."</p>
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  <p>"Don't be ridiculous." It comes out harsher than she intends, but Namatame doesn't seem to take any notice.</p>
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  <p>"I saw the news reports." He stares down at the glass cradled in his hands. "What all those people are saying about me, what they're calling me. Disgrace. Sleazeball. Adulterer. Philanderer. Worthless, hopeless." He smiles thinly. "And now, a kidnapper and a murderer."</p>
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  <p>"I thought you said before that you were going to try not to let any of that bother you. That you were just going to keep your head down and do a good job, live an honest life, do the best you can." Suzu watches him out of the corner of her eye. "Were you lying?"</p>
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  <p>Namatame has always fascinated her -- fascinated her because he's never expressed any wishes or desires through their encounters, just a quiet acceptance and resignation to his fate. She'd thought his shadow would be more forthcoming, but in the end, Suzu doesn't know any more about Namatame now than she did when she'd first met him, sad-eyed and slope-shouldered as he hunched behind the shelves while browsing for cheap beer accompaniments in the gas station convenience store. </p>
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  <p>"No," he says, and drinks from his glass. "It's … it's all I wanted."</p>
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  <p>"Really?"</p>
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  <p>Suzu lets the word hang, lingering in the air. Namatame tries to meet her gaze at first, looking away each time. "No," he says at last, so softly that Suzu almost can't hear him. "I … I wanted to be able to help people … to prove to everyone that I'm more than all the things they said about me."</p>
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  <p>Namatame tries to sit up in bed, and Suzu moves to help him, re-arranging his pillows around him. He sinks down heavily, as though all the energy has left his body. "Before … before all this, the Midnight Channel … when Mayumi, when Misuzu … when I lost everything … I thought it didn't matter if I lived or died. But then when I saw the other world … I thought … I thought I'd finally have a chance to set things right. To do the right thing, to help people, to do something good in the world after going wrong and going astray so many times. Having the chance to save all those people, to feel like I was helping them … I wanted to feel like there was some greater meaning or purpose to my life. After all … after all-- there had to be, right? If I lived, while Mayumi had to die?"</p>
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  <p>He puts his face into his hands; when he speaks, the words come out muffled and indistinct. "I became a politician to try and be useful to society, to speak up for the people who didn't have voices themselves, to be strong and dependable -- and then I let everybody down. Then, just when I thought that I got this power to help people, to be a hero that rescued them … it turns out I couldn't even do that." He laughs, a quiet and tired sound, then reaches out to pull something out from the drawer of his bedside table -- it's a small diary, cover held shut with an elastic binder. "I know this won't mean much coming form me, but … I'm sorry. And … I hope you can accept this. It has all the notes I took of the people I saw on TV, a few observations I made about the people I put in the other world … things like that. I hope that maybe … it could be helpful to you, if even just a little."</p>
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  <p>Suzu takes the notebook from him; when it leaves his grasp, the little diary feels almost heavy in her hands. </p>
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  <p>"I don't intend on running away from the consequences of what I've done," Namatame says, now meeting her eye squarely at last. "I'm going to be transferred out soon, so … even though it's selfish, I'm glad. I'm glad I was able to talk to you like this. I'm glad you came to hear what I had to say, even when you didn't have to. But … I have to ask: why did you … why did you come to see me?"</p>
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  <p>Why? Why, indeed. Suzu stares down at the notebook, its cover plain and adorned only with the year, embossed onto the leather. Innocent and nondescript, yet holding the weight of the memories of its owner. "Because … because I wanted to, I guess. Because we're … friends."</p>
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  <p>"Oh." If Namatame's expecting an answer, it's probably not the one he thought he'd get. A faint, wan smile twitches at the corners of his mouth; the edges of his eyes crinkle, ever so slightly. "Though I don't deserve this, especially from you … thank you, Seta-san. Thank you for caring."</p>
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